


Setting It To Paper

by Xidaer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dirty Talk, Food Sex, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 10:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20487722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xidaer/pseuds/Xidaer
Summary: Just a series of love letters between a certain angel and certain demon.Later letters become more explicit.





	1. My dearest Crowley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [8LunaFortuna8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8LunaFortuna8/gifts).

My dearest Crowley,

All these books surrounding me, yet I somehow find myself at a loss for words. I don’t know how to begin. How can mere words encompass all that has happened to us, all the feelings that have passed between us, in that last 6000 years? I fear if I were to write all the experiences, all the conversations tender and dear to my heart, it would fill every one of those books and more besides. And then their pages would contain my adoration, leaving none for me. So I shall be greedy, and confess only this to pen and paper here- I love you, Anthony J. Crowley, and I choose our side.

Yours, forever and always,

Aziraphale


	2. Az

Az,

You bastard. You just had to beat me to it- a love confession, via love letter no less. Bloody hell, Angel, it was less than a page! Come on, I’ve been wooing you, performing miracles, and trying to slow down long enough for you to catch up for the last six millennia— do us a favor? Try to be a bit more romantic, eh?

Love you too,  
Crowley


	3. My dearest, most frustrating fiend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Cole Porter for the lyrics at the end

My dearest, most frustrating fiend,

A bit more romantic? I tell you my love could fill volumes and that I’d rather keep that love inside me to treasure, and that isn’t romantic enough? Well, I never! And yet-

And yet I admit that my heart went all aflutter when I read your closing remark, that you love me too

So maybe more romance is in order. Were you in my shop, I would come to face you, without the offer of wine or of whiskey. I would take your hand in mine and ask to see your eyes. They are so beautiful, your golden irises, gems that you’ve hidden for these long years. I count myself lucky to behold them, and to be beheld by them without the need for artifice. I’d want to gaze into you so you’d know me to be true when I say, I’ve caught up. You’re no longer too fast. You’re just right, just like you’ve always been. I’m so sorry that I’ve made us wait for so long, but I love you- to the moon and back. To alpha centauri and back. Even to Hell and back. 

Perhaps you’d duck your head, trying to let your now long hair cover your reaction, but I wouldn’t let that happen. I’d sweep it from your eyes, tuck the strands behind your ear, and let my fingers linger on your cheek. The touch, gentle yet electrifying, makes my breath shutter. You always affect me so, Crowley. With you, I forget how to breath. You’re so beautiful with your flaming eyes, your firey hair, your cutting cheekbones, and your indulgent smile. Your hips that move to some form of physics yet discovered by man- it all consumes me even as I devour every moment of our time together. 

So ask me your questions, love, and I’ll tell you no lies. I’ll tell you of my passion and of my secret desires- I’ll tell you every word of romance that I have in my soul. And until then, I’ll leave you with this: 

Do I love you, do I?  
Doesn't one and one make two?  
Do I love you do I?  
Does July need a sky of blue?  
Would I miss you, would I  
If you ever should go away?  
If the sun should desert the day  
What would life be?  
Will I leave you, never?  
Could the ocean leave the shore?  
Will I worship you forever?  
Isn't heaven forevermore?  
Do I love you, do I?  
Oh, my dear it's so easy to see  
Don't you know I do, don't I show you I do?  
Just as you love me

Yours,  
Aziraphale


	4. Az,

Az,

Song lyrics and hips that defy physics? Oh, Angel, flattery like that will get you everywhere- maybe even to my flat, if you’re lucky ;)

Now that love is on the table, what’s next? Picnics? The Ritz? The horizontal mambo?

You’re asking me for questions and that’s definitely the big one.

Adore you Angel,

C.

PS- Heaven might not be forevermore, but my love for you certainly is.


	5. My dearest love,

My dearest love,

_ The horizontal mambo?! _

Where are the questions of when I knew I loved you? Of why now? Of my romantic intentions?

If instead you are asking, ever so indelicately, if I would like to physically consummate our affections, then the answer is yes.

You beleaguered and blushing love,

Aziraphale 


	6. My dearest darling blushing sweetiepoo :P

My dearest darling blushing sweetiepoo :P

Really, Angel? I’ll spell it out for you-

I don’t do unrequited- I know you’ve been smitten with me for a looooooooooooong time, though if I had to wager on when you figured it out? The books during the blitz.

Why now? We’re on our own side. No one to report to or worry about finding out about the arrangement or affections (as you so  _ delicately _ put it)

As to picnics or the Ritz versus the mambo- it’s a question of are we continuing the slow path or do you want to pick up speed. 

You want questions I  _ don’t _ know the answers to- then tell me of these passions and secret desires. Do they involve chocolate sauce and whipped cream? :p

Love you, Angel,

C.

PS: I bet you’re pretty when you blush.


	7. My most charming yet frustrating fiend,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets saucy!

My most charming yet frustrating fiend,

Why must you be right? While I’ve come to acknowledge I’ve been smitten for centuries, yes, it was the Blitz where I was truly smote. Your little demonic miracle, without being asked or cajoled, was like a bolt of lightning to my heart. You did it just to make me happy. You knew full well that I’d forget those books in the heat of the moment, yet I’ve never forgotten them since. They still sit on my bedroom shelf and make me smile whenever I walk in the room. I wonder if within their pages of prophecy any of their authors could have foretold the love between an angel and a demon.

You are similarly correct about the now. Our side is the only side now. Heaven and Hell know about us so there is no need to fear discovery or reprimand. They called you my boyfriend, you know. I like that; boyfriend, partner, and soon... maybe lover?

You would think I am quite pretty now; my cheeks are aflame. Chocolate sauce and whipped cream? Are you a decadent dessert spread out before me on a table at the Ritz? That would be quite the sight; your bare skin contrasted against the crisp white of the table cloth, crisscrossed with lines of chocolate from ankle to neck and down every limb. Where would the cream go, I wonder? I’m not one for the obvious- no, I think I’d want sweetened heavy whipping cream not yet whipped. A delightful, dainty pitcher to pour anywhere that took my amorous fancy.

I think I’d start with that flat belly of yours, the teasing vee of your hips that frames it so beautifully. You know my eyes are drawn there every time your shirt hitches up revealing a strip of tantalizing skin between it and your low slung trousers. I’d pour a generous portion into the dip of your navel, the cold giving you goosebumps. I’d lap at it, a cat that’s gotten the literal cream, nibbling lightly around the edge of your belly button. The lovely Effort you’ve made for me would take interest in the ministrations of my tongue, though I’m uncertain if you’d choose cock or cunt. Definitely a question for you to answer, my love.

Once you were licked quite clean, I’d follow the stripes of chocolate further upward; there’s ever so much more to explore before going down, after all. My warm, wet tongue tracing the sweet streaks along your ribs before giving a splash over what I imagine to be sensitive nipples. I see them perk up in the cool liquid. Poor dear, I’d say, let me warm you-- then I’d taste the streaming droplets, swallowing them back to the tight peaks and surrounding each electrified nub with my eager mouth. Would you arch up to me, darling? Would you moan my name in its entirety or would it catch in your throat as my teeth graze your nipple?

Once again licked clean, I’d move upward still to the hollow of your throat asking you to tilt your head back to give me access. Just like your navel, the cream would pool there taking on a lovely hue as it mixed with the chocolate sauce. Would this tiny reservoir overflow as I suckle at it? Oh, I dearly hope so; the column of your neck begs exploring as I chase the rivulets of sweetness. I’d map every inch, each gasp and whimper, drinking them in even as my lips drink. I want you to tremble under me. I want your fingers to claw the fine linen beneath you. I want you to feel like a live wire at my touch, raw and exposed. Oh, Crowley, I  _ want. _

I want you to open your lips, my darling, to taste what I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed. I’d pour just a thin stream over your tongue and then chase it with my own. What a glorious flavor it would be- cream and chocolate and salt from your skin. You would lose the battle to keep your arms at your sides; clutching at me, touching my sides, my arms, cradling my face in your hands. Chocolate sauce would smear all over my coat- you’ll have to miracle it clean. This kiss is lightning. This kiss summons a moan from deep in my chest, spilling out and into you. Would this be our first kiss, I wonder? I find myself musing and wondering quite a lot it seems. All from a suggestion of chocolate sauce and whipped cream.

Answer my questions, my love, and perhaps in the next letter I’ll move lower.

All my love and worship,

Aziraphale


	8. Angel,

Angel,

Fuck.

Just, Fuck me. Like,  _ now _ .

I was teasing and you write me THAT. I think I have a new kink. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my jeans from tenting at the Ritz. Or when you eat dessert. Or pour cream in your tea.

Just….Fuck.

I didn’t think you knew words like cunt, let alone used them. I didn’t think...well, I thought I’d have to pull filthy depravities from you- get you to confess through broken sentences and blushing. AND NOW I’M THE ONE WHO’S BLUSHING.

I don’t know how to answer- what kind of Effort I’d like more or how I’d moan your name. I know I don’t want it to be our first kiss. Fuck, Angel, I just want to kiss you now. Get fucked into the table, the bed, the fucking bookshelves by you. Tell me more, Aziraphale. Tell me how you’d eat my cunt. Tell me how you’d bend me over your writing desk, my aching cock grinding against the wood as you fuck my ass. Tell me  _ your _ fantasies, your kinks. 

Fuck me, you kinky bastard,

C.

  
PS If you think I didn’t masturbate  _ furiously _ to your letter, you’d be absolutely wrong.


End file.
